Death -- Fiction; France -- Fiction; Villages -- France -- Fiction
Father Philibin and Brother Fulgence now spoke of having to attend to
various matters connected with the distribution of prizes which was to
take place in the afternoon, and Darras advised them to make haste and
then return, for, said he, the Procureur de la République, otherwise
the Public Prosecutor, would certainly wish to question them about
the number of _Le Petit Beaumontais_ and the copy-slip found near the
body. So the two clerics took their departure; and while the gendarmes,
stationed on the square outside the window, with difficulty restrained
the now increasing crowd, which became violent and raised threatening
cries, demanding the execution of the unknown murderer, Simon again
went into the building with Darras, Marc, Mademoiselle Rouzaire, and
Mignot, the whole party waiting in a large classroom lighted by broad
windows which faced the playground.
It was now eight o'clock, and after a sudden stormy rainfall, the sky
cleared, and the day became a splendid one. An hour elapsed before
the magistrates arrived. The Procureur de la République, Raoul de La
Bissonnière, came in person, accompanied by Daix, the Investigating
Magistrate. Both were moved by the magnitude of the crime and foresaw
a great trial. La Bissonnière, a dapper little man with a doll-like
face, and whiskers of a correct legal cut, was very ambitious. Not
content with his rapid advancement to the post he held--he was only
forty-five--he was ever on the watch for some resounding case which
would launch him in Paris, where, thanks to his suppleness and address,
his complaisant respect for the powers of the day, whatever they might
be, he relied on securing a high position. On the other hand, Daix,
tall and lean, with a sharp-cut face, was a type of the punctilious
Investigating Magistrate, devoted to his professional duties. But he
was also of an anxious and timid nature, for his ugly but coquettish
and extravagant wife, exasperated by the poverty of their home,
terrorised and distressed him with her bitter reproaches respecting his
lack of ambition.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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